


Three Strikes Don't Mean Shit in Football

by eric_idle_rules



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Football, Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3210005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eric_idle_rules/pseuds/eric_idle_rules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Cena's college football team wins a spot in the championship game down in Missouri, where he meets Randy Orton, a college student attending the opposing school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Strikes Don't Mean Shit in Football

They had taken the lead during the first quarter, two touchdowns, one with a run in, as well as a field goal, bringing the score to 18 to 6 in favor of Springfield College in the Division III playoffs to determine which team would be making the trek down south to Missouri to face Westminster College in the championship game.

It was all about the chemistry, how well the center and the quarterback could work together. And no team had better chemistry than starting center and team captain, John Cena and the starting quarterback and fellow captain, Peter Nicks.

The two of them were a golden team. They knew exactly what the other was going to do before it was even done. They could read each other, and always knew which play would work to their advantage and exploit the weak points of the other team’s game.

With those two playing, no team ever stood a chance. They amassed the points for Springfield, the opposing team playing as though they were in some mere practice scrimmage, not the game to determine who would get into the championship. Of course, when John and Peter were on point, they made _everyone_ look like crap.

The seats on both sides of the field were packed and overflowing down to the chain link fence surrounding the field. The Springfield marching band was playing up a storm, rallying the team as well as the fans even further.

In attendance were John’s parents, brothers, friends and girlfriend, all of whom were going crazy as the score gap widened.

By the start of the 4th quarter, the outcome of the game was set. Everything was going right for Springfield. They had a team assembled by the gods, the home field advantage and the drive to win the big one.

This was John’s final chance to go on to the championships. Last year they had been on a roll when Peter injured his wrist when he got sacked during a game, causing him to sit out the final two games of the regular season. The second string quarterback was good, no doubt, but the two never developed the same connection, leading to many fumbles and bad passes when the plays didn’t go quite right.

And now John was a senior, and he was _determined_ to win.

He couldn’t help the dimple inducing grin that spread over his face as he looked up to the clock and watched the final twenty seconds of the game ticked away. And then it was over, another game in the books, and a win for Springfield.

The crowd burst into a round of cheers as the players huddled together in celebration. After lining up to slap hands with the other team in a show of sportsmanship, it was once more back to celebration.

John found his own personal cheering squad huddled around the fence, front and center. He was greeted by a round of “Awesome job,” and “You looked great out there,” and many pats on the back. His mum pulled him into a hug and informed him just how happy she was for him, which only widened his smile. When his mum let go, his girlfriend, Danielle, gave him a hug of her own and planted a kiss on his smiling lips.

He lightly pushed out of her embrace, giving her a smile for her confusion. “While I appreciate all the attention, everyone, I bet everyone else would appreciate me showering before we do anything else.”

“Your father and I are going to take your little brothers home. You have fun with your friends, ok?”

“Yeah. See ya later, Mom. Thanks for comin’, you know it means a lot. Later!” he added to the rest of his family as they walked off to their car. “And I’m off to the showers. Am I meeting you guys at the bar?”

“Damn right!”

“The Salty Dog, like always?” John asked as he began walking backwards up towards the locker rooms at the school gym.

“Shit yeah, man!”

“Sounds good!” John shouted back. He turned, raising his arm up in a wave to his friends as he continued on his walk.

John showered quickly and threw on some clean clothes, shoving all his football gear into his oversized gym bag. He tossed that into the trunk of his car and made the drive over to The Salty Dog, which looked completely packed. He walked into the crowded bar to cheers as the rest of the team spotted him.

Peter headed over to John and pushed a beer into his hand. What better way to start the celebrations than free beer? John raised the cup in the air in a toast to the rest of his team before bringing it to his lips and drinking up.

The tap was flowing freely that night as it seemed like everyone on campus decided to hit up the bar after the enormous win for their school.

“John, DUDE, you gotta get on the bull!” one of his now slightly drunk teammates shouted to him.

The rest of the team shouted their approval at the idea, and John, being John, was never one to turn something like that down. He handed his most recent cup of beer over to his girlfriend and made his way to the mechanical bucking bull in the center of the floor. He hefted himself onto the bull’s back and took hold of the rope with his left hand, raising his right arm into the air. Slowly, the bull came to life under his legs, rocking back and forth. The spinning began next, picking up speed as it continued to move round and round.

“YEAH!” a few people shouted and clapped.

“Ride that bitch!” another person called out as the force of the bucks increased.

John himself let out a “Whooooo!” before he was flung forward over the front of the bull onto the soft padding below. He scrambled to his feet and once he was off the mat and standing on the solid wood floor, he raised his arms into the air and let out another cry of, “Yeah, baby!”

Danielle handed the cup back to her boyfriend with a roll of her eyes. God, he could be so ridiculous at times, she was amazed she actually put up with him. They really had nothing in common, anyway, so why was it they were still together?

He wrapped his arm around her waist and bent forward, kissing her. And while it tasted like beer, it was also filled with signs of things to come. “You wanna get outta here?” he asked her with a wink.

Right, _that_ was why they were still together.

“Yo, I’m headin’ back to my room,” John shouted to the rest of the guys, pulling Danielle in closer to him, letting them all know just what his intentions were.

And afterwards, with John’s arm flung across her body, she couldn’t help but think if even the great sex was worth it. Not that John wasn’t an amazing guy, and he was certainly good looking, but she wasn’t sure if he was just what she was looking for. And, really, what did they ever actually have in common? She sighed inwardly and let herself fall asleep in John’s arms.

Friday afternoon it was off to the airport to get down to Missouri for the final game. This was what it came down to. This was the big one. And it was all going down on Sunday.

The entire team was in Missouri, and the excitement was bubbling over. The entire city was given a new life as this team from Mass made the trip down south to try and beat Westminster on their home turf.

After checking into their hotel and bringing their bags up to their rooms, the plan was to meet back down in the hotel lobby to figure out just what they would be doing that evening for dinner. They’d also have to decide if they would be going out after that, especially since some of the team wasn’t actually old enough to get into half the places around here.

As a whole, led by John, the team all headed to the front desk. John leaned onto the counter and gave the man behind there his best smile. “Can you tell me where we can get something to eat around here?”

“What exactly were you looking for?”

“Pizza, burgers, whatever, man. Just tell us some place good. And it wouldn’t hurt if you could recommend a bar or three, either.”

“Well, if you’re lookin’ for some all around good food, I’d go to Sir Winston’s. And the best bar around has gotta be the Saddle Saloon,” the man behind the counter, Rick, it said on his nametag, answered.

“The Saddle Saloon?” John asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Alright. They close by?”

John was handed a map and he and Rick were leaned over the desk, Rick explaining the best route for them to take.

They gorged themselves on pizza, packing on those last minute calories to prepare themselves for the sheer intensity of the upcoming game. Once they finished their dinner, some of the guys opted to go back to the hotel, some because they weren’t actually old enough to get into bars and some others just wanted to chill out in their hotel room.

In the end, six of the guys wound up going over to the Saddle for some drinks after dinner. They did have an entire day to recover, after all. They found a long table and all took their seats, and John offered to get them all drinks, which ended up being a round of whatever they had on tap, and enlisting Peter to help him carry them,.

While waiting for the drinks to be poured, John skimmed the rest of the bar and his eyes stopped on the green felt of a well-used looking pool table. He watched as a young man bent forward, palming the cue in his hand as he lined up his shot. With a flick of his wrist, John watched as the man sunk the final striped ball on the table.

He stood up straight and walked around to the other side of the table, glancing up and towards the bar when he felt a pair of eyes upon his. His eyes caught hold of John’s baby blues and a grin spread over his face. Reaching over, Randy picked up the blue chalk and tilted the cue towards him, rubbing the indented square of chalk over the tip of his cue. The entire time, his eyes never left John’s.

Randy placed the chalk back down on the edge of the pool table before slowly running his hand down to its proper spot on the cue in order to get off the perfect shot. He bent forward, resting his hand on the table and drew the cue back in forth in his hand, making sure his grip was just right. All while staring at John. Finally, he broke the eye contact as he had to get the shot off, sinking the 8-ball and winning the game. Which, naturally, he did.

However, once he stood back up to lock eyes with the guy at the bar, he wasn’t there. “Fucker,” Randy grumbled, setting the cue up on the rack against the wall.

John and Peter each had three cups of beer in their hands as they made their way back to the table where the rest of the team sat.

“Yo, Johnny boy, what was so interesting over there? Whoever she was, you couldn’t take your eyes off her, man!” one of the guys said with a slap on the back.

John gulped. Had he really been staring? Ok, yeah, he was. But he was only watching the ending of the pool game, right? “I just thought that watching a pool game was a lot more interesting than looking at you guys’ ugly mugs,” John quipped, earning him a couple good natured laughs from his teammates.

Really, though, he was staring. And it wasn’t the pool game itself that he was interested in, not in the least bit. Goddamn, what the fuck was wrong with him? Why in the hell had he been staring at man in the first place? He was in a great… pretty good… halfway decent… alright… relationship with Danielle, after all. And even if they weren’t dating, he still wouldn’t be interested in the guy at the pool table for precisely that reason: he was a dude.

But as much as he tried to keep the guy’s face out of his mind, the image of him smirking as he stroked the cue, almost as if he were offering, was burned into his memory.

He thought back to the first time he laid eyes on Danielle and remembered that he thought she was cute, but there was no heat between them. She hadn’t tried to catch his attention and try to demonstrate just how well she could use her hands, not like this guy had.

Fuck. He just _saw_ this guy, they made eye contact, and suddenly he was head over heels for him? ‘Fucking hell, John, snap out of it!’ he thought to himself. His mind was racing as he continued to bullshit with the rest of his team, his usual sarcastic comebacks not as quick witted as normal.

“Wanna go?” a person asked him in a deep voice, laced with a smooth southern sound.

John closed his eyes just before turning his head, opening his eyes along the way. His breath stopped short as he saw the guy from before standing directly in front of his line of vision. “Come again?”

“You looked like you were interested in a game of pool. You wanna go?” he repeated.

John stood from his seat and said, “See you guys later,” to the rest of the team. He then turned all of his attention back to… “You got a name?”

“Randy,” he answered. “How about you?”

“John.”

“Alright, John, get ready, cuz I’m gonna show you how it’s done.”

“Oh, really?” John steps up to the challenge before him. “Cuz as far as I know, ain’t no one do it better than New Englanders.”

Randy had known from the second he saw John that he wasn’t from around here. And now he basked in the sounds of John’s strong Boston accent. So what if he was on that football team that had come down here in hopes of defeating his school’s team? Just because he was some Yank didn’t mean Randy didn’t want him.

Over at the pool table, Randy racked the balls while John picked out which cue he was going to use. “Your break,” Randy said as he hung the rack back up on the wall.

John bent down and aligned the cue with the cue ball. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Randy staring at him, and he smirked. He drew the cue back and heard the satisfying crack of the cue ball against the rest of the balls, scattering them around the table. With the shot, he managed to sink the 5 in the corner pocket. “Looks like I got solids.”

“Well, then, quit firin’ off your damn mouth and take your next shot, already.”

“Awful pushy, aren’t ya?” John asked as he turned around to face Randy. He leaned back against the table and was once more eye to eye with Randy.

“That’d be me. So, are you gonna go, or are you forfeiting your turn?”

“Fuck that,” John told him. He turned back around and examined the table, trying to see the best path to get the 1 ball into a pocket. John lined up his shot and pulled the cue back. Just as he made contact with the cue ball, Randy began talking to him.

“So, what brings you down here?”

John glared as he missed his shot and turned to face a smirking Randy. “Football,” John told him.

Randy leaned over, watching John watch him, and continued to talk. “Figured. I go to Westminster, ya know.”

“Can’t say that I did. So, what’s this, fraternizing with the enemy?” John asked, trying not to stare at Randy’s ass.

“I’m not the one staring at the enemy’s ass,” Randy quipped back as he made his shot. He readjusted his position on the table to line up his next shot.

John gaped, but soon regained his composure. “What was your game earlier?”

Randy stood and leaned part of his weight on the cue as he had just missed the shot. “What game would that be?”

John moved around the table so he was now standing next to Randy. He glanced down at the balls spread over the table and then set his eyes back on Randy. “Your memory that bad? Here, let me remind you.” He set his own cue down, leaning it against the table. Biting his bottom lip and staring directly into Randy’s eyes, he reached out and took hold of Randy’s cue. Gently, he rubbed his palm over the smooth wood surface.

Not wanting to miss any of it, Randy’s eyes flickered down to watch John’s hand as it made its way up and down the cue. Fuck. His flirting had gotten him plenty of ass before, male and female, but never before had he actually had some kind of connection. Because that’s what this was. There was an instant connection, an instant spark between them.

“What’s _your_ game, John?” Randy all but purred into his ear.

John stepped back, a twinkle in his eye, as he grabbed hold of his cue once more. This time he sank two shots in a row before scratching the next shot.

There were no more words exchanged between the two as their game progressed. _They_ could feel the tension in the air. And when the rest of the team showed up to watch John, the tension only grew.

There was constant back and forth action, until it finally came down to who could sink the 8 ball. Randy scratched on his turn, leaving the entire table open to John.

And John made the shot. He called it, 8 ball, side pocket and he sank it. He grinned at Randy just before he slid the cue back into its spot on the wall. Randy placed his own cue back next to John’s and stuck out his hand. “Good game.”

“You, too,” John told him, accepting the hand shake.

“Yo, John, we were gonna head back. You comin’ with?”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Randy raised his eyebrow at John. “You’re not going with them?”

John just shrugged. “I’ve decided to keep my enemies closer.” He led them back to the table he had been sitting at and Randy took a seat across from John. “So, you on the football team?”

“Why do you want to know? Think I can give you all the plays and shit?”

“Or maybe you’re trying to get me to tell you all the plays as you try and get into my pants.”

Randy couldn’t help but smirk at John’s words. “Right… What if I told you I wasn’t actually on the team? I’ll be at the game, though. I can’t say I’m the biggest football fan on this planet, but I’ll go to see my school trample you.”

“Sorry to rain on your parade, but that’s not gonna happen.”

“Yeah, you tell yourself that, that way you can tell everyone else that they did their best once you guys get your asses handed to you.”

John leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table, and Randy mirrored his pose. They were so fucking close. All John had to do was reach out his hand and he could brush it over Randy’s face… “Still not gonna happen.”

Their faces were impossibly close. They could feel the other’s breaths on them…

“Keep dreaming.”

“Always.”

“My roommate went home for the weekend,” Randy said. His words were laced with his intentions, and he was leaving it up to John to decide what to do with them.

And John made his decision. He stood up from the table, mumbling “I gotta get back to the hotel,” before leaving Randy sitting alone at the table.

The thoughts were going crazy in his head. He couldn’t handle them, the emotions that were stirred up inside him. Why was it like this with some random guy he met in a bar in Fulton, Missouri? Shit, what did he even know about this guy apart from that his name was Randy, he attended Westminster and he knew how to use a pool cue? He didn’t know what year Randy was in, hell, he didn’t even have a last name. John rubbed his hands over his face, trying to clear out his head.

There was just no way he could actually want the guy, right? He argued with himself that he still had Danielle, but with each step he took, the more he realized that he hadn’t so much as thought of her during any of the time he spent with Randy. Of course, he had just fucked all chances he may have had to even find out if they _could_ have had something, even if it was just a one time fuck. Because he couldn’t even imagine what a fuck with Randy would be like. With the kind of tension they emitted, if all that were translated to _sex_ …

Before he knew it, he had walked back to the hotel and was up in his room, where he found two of his teammates passed out in a drunken stupor in one bed, still fully dressed, over the comforter. He headed into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, letting his head fall back against it with his eyes shut.

Images of Randy played across his mind, of what he and Randy could do together. His hand wandered down to his cock as it hardened with each thought of Randy.

The next morning during breakfast, the guys all decided what they were going to do with their free day. As he at his bowl of Corn Pops, John opted to head out to wander around the Westminster campus. Most of the other guys wanted to check out the town or spend the morning working out in the hotel gym. One bagel and a fruit cup later, John was out the front door and on his way over to the nearby campus.

John walked down the main walk way, looking at all the classroom buildings, the dorms, the people. He paused in front of the student center, debating whether or not he should go in.

“My roommate’s still home,” a voice came from behind him.

“Shit,” John muttered as he turned around to see a smirking Randy.

“Couldn’t keep away, now could ya?” Randy began walking further down the path, turning his head back to look at John, who hadn’t followed. He raised his eyebrows slightly, then said, “I’m going to the DC, you know, for food. Don’t worry, I’m not trying to lead you back to my room and seduce the pants off of you.”

“Oh, what? Sorry…” John said, catching up with him. “I didn’t think that… I just came here to check out the campus is all.”

“Then let me give you the grand tour. Starting with the DC, because I’m fucking starving.”

“But I can’t go in there; I don’t have a student ID here,” John told him.

“I know that, dumbass. You can have one of my guest passes if you want it.”

John had no idea why Randy was being so nice to him. They had only just met the night before at a bar, and John had turned down Randy’s… offer… at said bar. “I already ate.”

“What? You ate a shitty continental hotel breakfast and you call that eating? C’mon, man, you’ll be starving in 20 minutes, anyway. It’s a fucking free meal, so get the fuck over it. You coming, or not?”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m coming.”

It had been two years since John had eaten his school’s food, but he always recalled it tasting, well, not too good. But this food actually looked pretty good. And sooo much better than what the hotel had provided them with.

“Omelets?” John asked, wide eyed.

“Omelets,” Randy replied.

“And tater tots?”

“You make it sound like you’ve never been to a breakfast at a college dining facility before.”

“It’s been a couple years,” John told him as they both lined up at the omelet bar.

“Oh? What year are you in, anyway?”

“Senior.”

“Oh…”

“How about you?” John asked.

“Freshman,” Randy admitted.

It looked as thought John was about to drop his empty plate. “You’re a freshman?”

“So? What of it? You make it sound like it’s a sin to be a freshman, or something,” he said to John. He then told the guy behind the omelet station what he wanted, that being egg whites, ham, peppers, tomatoes and onions with cheddar cheese.

“No,” John said with a shake of his head, “I just wasn’t expecting to hear that, I guess… Egg whites, bacon, ham, peppers and tomatoes with American cheese.”

“What were you expecting to hear, then? Shit, do I look like I’m a lot older than 18?”

“I don’t know. Just the way you were yesterday…”

“Just because I’m only 18 doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have a good time.”

“You said cheddar, right?” the guy making the omelets asked.

“Yup,” Randy answered.

“So, how come you’re doing this?” John finally asked.

Randy shrugged and handed the man his plate. “Thanks,” he said, taking his plate back and standing to the side as he waited for John to get his. “I would have been eating alone, anyway…”

“But you don’t even know me. Thank you,” he also said when he was handed his food. They walked to the line that had scrambled eggs, tater tots, French toast and kielbasa.

“So what? Won’t this give me the chance to get to know you better?”

“Why do you even care?” John scooped three heaps of tater tots onto his plate, then grabbed a tray and another plate. He piled on the French toast and doused it with maple syrup, too hungry to even care that it was the fake shit. What else would there be in Missouri? “It’s not like we’re ever gonna see each other again.”

“Says who? You never know, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

John followed Randy through the crowded DC to find an empty table. Randy slid into the cushioned bench lining the entire wall and John pulled out a chair as he set his tray down on the table and sat down.

“So, Randy, you got a last name to go with your first?”

“Orton.”

John had a forkful of omelet halfway to his mouth, but dropped it back down to his plate. “Wait, like—”

“Yeah, like _that_ Orton. Can we drop it now? I get asked that enough.”

“I was actually thinking about going into wrestling one day,” John told him, picking his fork back up and finally eating the first bite of omelet.

Randy shoved some tater tots into his mouth before asking, “Really?”

“Yeah, man, I watch it all the time. Back in the day, me and my brothers would pretend we were wrestlers and beat the shit outta each other. It was great.”

“See, I told you we’d be seeing each other again after this. So, I gave you my last name, what’s yours?”

“Cena. Trust me, you’ll be seeing it plenty on the back of my jersey at tomorrow’s game. As we kick your ass.”

“Don’t say that too loud. Remember, you’re in enemy territory. If they hear you spouting your bullshit, they’ll be kicking your ass before the game even starts.” Randy smirked as he took the last couple bites of his omelet.

“Oh, that’s right. Enemy territory. So, really, you don’t mind eating with me? Even after last night.” John looked down at his plate and began cutting up his French toast so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact with Randy.

“No. Look, I obviously got the wrong idea last night—”

“Sorry… I didn’t really help with that, did I?” John lifted a piece of French toast to his mouth, a string of maple syrup trailing behind, leaving a couple drops on his lips, which he caught with his tongue.

And he also caught Randy staring.

Randy didn’t take his eyes off of John’s lips, because what Randy wanted, Randy got. “Was it because I’m a guy?”

“There’s that… And I also have a girlfriend back at school…”

Randy tilted his head slightly and gave John an amused look. “Really? John, you’re how many miles away from her? Do you think she’d even know if you hooked up with someone?”

“She probably would, yeah.”

“Because you’d spill the beans.” Randy pushed his plate aside and leaned forward with his arms folded on the table, just like last night. “Or maybe you’re just not man enough to handle another man.”

John had never backed down from a challenge before, never. But this was overwhelming him. He shouldn’t be feeling like this, not with someone who’s only looking for a quick fuck to begin with, and certainly not with a guy, attractive as that guy may be. “Look, my girlfriend…” He grabbed his tray and stood up. “I should go work out.”

“John,” Randy said as he, too, stood up to catch up to the other man and begin talking in a low voice, “I hope you know that I can just as easily find someone else to hook up with. But I also hope you know that I’ve never asked someone who’s turned me down to come have breakfast with me.”

“Well, don’t I just feel special?”

“You should. Because for one, I’m still talking to you. And I’m also gonna say this, if you run off one more time, this opportunity is gone. So the ball’s in your court, field, what the fuck ever.”

John placed his tray on the moving rack and continued out of the DC where he walked to lean against the side of the building. “I can’t. Not… Look, it’s just… I’d feel like shit if I cheated on her.” Goddamn, John couldn’t believe he was lying right through his teeth. He wanted Randy, and he knew that if he had one night with Randy, losing everything else would be worth it. But his fucking feelings were so conflicted. Would he have accepted the offer last night if he didn’t have a girlfriend? His gut told him no, since he hadn’t even been _thinking_ about her. And right now, well, he was only using her to cover the fact that he was too chicken shit to admit that he wanted to have sex with another guy.

“I get it, man… How about you try looking for me after you two split and see if you can give me a straight answer then? Can’t you see it? I know that you’re hiding in this football playing, banging all the cheerleaders, tough guy body, when in reality, all you are is a gutless coward.”

Now that struck a nerve with John. How dare this guy that he barely knew say something like that to him? “Hey, I’m sorry I don’t wanna go back to your fucking dorm room for a quick fuck. I’m sorry that my being in a relationship is such a hard thing for you to fucking understand. Oh, and I’m sorry, but the grand tour ends here.”

With that, John left, heading back the direction he came. And he still wasn’t able to get Randy out of his head.

Randy was in a similar situation. He started the walk back to his dorm, wondering why the fuck he was wasting his energy on John. It would be so damn easy to go out to the bar tonight and pick up some girl he’d never see again. But why was it so damn hard to get thoughts of John Cena out of his mind?

Determined to not see Randy again, John opted to stay in that night, saying that he needed to rest up for the big game. This game was more important than any game he had played in his life, and he wasn’t about to fuck that up by getting wasted. At least that’s what he told people. And, yeah, it was partially true, this really _was_ the biggest game he had ever been in, but he really didn’t want to fuck it up because he got himself worked up over Randy Orton.

“You sure, man?”

“Yeah, dude, go ahead. I’ll be cool here.”

“Don’t tell me that you just wanted some alone time so you could have phone sex with your girl, dude.”

“Hey, fuck you. I’m not about to let her get me outta my zone, man. No, I’m not gonna talk to anyone until _after_ our fuckin’ big ass win tomorrow.”

“Whatever. We better not come back to the room at 1 to find you still on the phone, jacking off as your precious little Dani tells you what she’s gonna do to you with her mouth.”

John flipped the two other guys off and stripped off his shirt just before he pulled the comforter down and slid underneath. Once they were out the door, John proceeded to think about his missed chance, no _chances_ , with Randy. But, goddamn, he had never felt something so strong and so instantaneously, at that.

He rolled over and began digging around through his bag, which he had thrown to the side of the bed against the wall. He pulled out his CD player and put on his headphones, letting the sounds of Three Dog Night wash over him.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep, but when he woke up at 8 the next morning, John could feel it. The day had arrived. It was game time.

They headed into the visitor’s locker room where the dressed and talked strategy until the start of the game.

True to his word, Randy was in attendance. He was on the home team side, sitting in the third row of bleachers, a couple of his friends around him. It wasn’t too long after he arrived until the teams were announced, first the home team, and then the challengers.

John’s was the first name called. Randy watched on, not saying a word as his friends and fellow students booed each member of the opposing team. No, Randy was fixated on #54.

John scanned the field, seizing up the other players, then moved onto the crowd. The only people on the visitor’s side were fellow team members, and some scattered people from Westminster that probably just wanted away from the crowd of the packed home team side of bleachers, as they were still wearing Westminster colours. But what John really wanted to know was if _he_ was there.

Randy saw John’s head turning towards him. He stood up, saying to his friends, “I’m gonna walk around.” He headed down and before he began on his walk, leaned against the chain link fence, his eyes still trained on John.

Even though he couldn’t see the individual faces in the crowd that well, he could pick out Randy. Because he could tell that Randy was staring back.

All the players were lined up on the field. John was in position football in hand, waiting for the moment to come where he could pass it off to Peter. Oh, and it was a beautiful moment.

Randy continued on his walk, only taking his eyes off the game when he stopped at a concession stand to get a bag of popcorn. He started back up, walking around the fence until he stood directly across from his original place on the bleachers.

John snuck a glance back to where he had previously seen Randy, and when he didn’t see him, he lost all focus on the game. Until a tackle brought him crashing back to earth. The hit took the wind out of him as he hit the ground. But that was what he needed. He had to have something clear his head.

Nodding his head to his friends from across the field, Randy once again leaned against the fence, munching on his popcorn. He visibly cringed when he saw John get tackled, even letting out an “Ouch.” He decided that if his friends asked why he ditched them to go stand over on the opposing team’s side, he would tell them that he wanted his space. They knew him well enough to know that he needed alone time at random times. He couldn’t very well tell them that it was because of the captain of the _other_ school’s football team that he wanted to stand on their side.

Regaining his composure, John managed to get back into his zone, get back in tune with what Peter was doing, and trying to push himself through the oncoming onslaught of Westminster’s topnotch offense.

As the teams re-formed their lines, John saw a figure leaning over the fence, the same way Randy had been leaning, same stance and all, only it was on the visitor’s side now. Just before he snapped the ball to Peter, he looked around to both sides, but instead of looking at the players on the field, he saw that it was Randy over there. When he snapped the ball back, he ran, determined to catch the pass Peter was supposed to throw to him. He jumped for it, grazing it with his fingertips, causing him to lunge for it as soon as his feet touched the ground.

John hit the ground shoulder first, but, dammit, he had the ball in his hands, and that was what mattered. He got them a first down, and they were now a mere 30 yards from the goal.

Shit, this team played damn good. Everything was on point with _both_ teams. It _had_ to be. There couldn’t be an off _second_ , not with everything on the line. And so the game went on.

The first quarter ended with Westminster ahead by three points, and they started in possession of the ball. The ball was passed between the teams numerous times throughout the second quarter, resulting in a single touchdown for Springfield.

Halftime consisted of the school marching band performing while the people in the stands chatted and the players strategized. A couple of the players walked off to grab their water bottles. John headed to the bench and picked up his bottle, catching eyes with Randy before squirting some into his mouth.

“If you don’t pick up your game soon, my school’s gonna trample you. Just like I said they would.”

“Bitch, you ain’t seen nothin’,” John informed him quite confidently.

“Really? Cuz the way you’ve been playing tonight has me wonder how the fuck you even got on the team, much less made captain,” Randy told him, trying to see just how many buttons he could push in order to rile John up.

Honestly, Randy could care less about the football game. He had never attended a game, be it in high school or this year when his school was kicking ass, or some shit like that.

“What’d you say?” John knew Randy’s game right away. It’s not the first time someone tried to stir up shit. But he also knew _why_ Randy was doing it: because Randy _wanted_ John’s team to win.

“Well, I pretty much said that you suck, and not in any kind of pleasure inducing way, either,” Randy said with a giant smirk on his young face.

“Just for that, you fucker, we’re gonna rip your school’s team a new asshole,” John replied with a matching smirk.

“What took ya so long?”

The head coach of Springfield’s football team walked over in their direction, asking, “There some problem over here, guys?”

John turned his head towards his coach, and Randy was practically shooting daggers at this man via his stare for interrupting their conversation.

“No, there’s no problem,” John told him.

“So, this guy wasn’t giving you any trouble?” the coach asked, returning Randy’s harsh glare.

“Oh, not at all. In fact, he’s got nothing but encouraging words.”

Randy raised an eyebrow, as if daring the coach to say anything further to him. And as much as Coach Taylor would have loved to tell Randy to shut his fucking mouth and leave his players alone, the last thing he needed was the attention of the rest of Westminster student body. So, he walked off.

John backed up and leaned against the fence, standing right next to Randy, with his arm slung over the top. “So, you came.”

Randy nodded. “I did, just like I said I would.”

“Why’d you come over here?”

“Too crowded over there. Besides, you guys looked like you needed some support.”

“Oh, you’re supporting us now?”

“Who ever said I was supporting my school to begin with?”

“What’s with the Westminster sweater, then?”

“I do still go to school here, ya know. I think it’s ok for me to be wearing my own school’s clothes at my own school.”

“Ok, I’ll give you that. I didn’t think you’d ever wanna see me again.”

“You’ve only gotten two strikes. Third time’s the charm, right?”

“You’re still not giving up on this?” John lowered his voice as he continued, “It’s a lotta trouble to go through just to get some quick fuck.”

“It’s all about the thrill of the chase.”

John glanced up towards the clock and noticed half time was nearly over. He caught Randy’s eyes once more and bit his lip. Shit, he wanted him. His girlfriend didn’t need to know, right? Fuck it, outta sight, outta mind. “We’ll talk later. After the game, under the visitor’s bleachers, after we kick some ass.”

“Alright. Oh, and so you don’t freak out and get tackled, I’m going back to my friends before they start to wonder just what I was doing over here. I’ll be back here before the end of the game though. I’ll just tell them I was pissing you off. Look pissed off.”

Randy smirked once more as John threw up double middle fingers at him and stormed off back to his team. Randy’s smirk remained in place as he made the journey back over to his friends for the third quarter.

As the game progressed, the tension mounted. The game started leaning in favour of Springfield when an interception was made and they were able to run in a touchdown. A chorus of boos washed over the field, and Springfield fed off of it, because with their boos came Springfield’s victory.

The quarter continued with great defense on Springfield’s part. As much as Westminster charged in on them, they kept them at bay. Springfield was NOT losing. JOHN was not losing. Not when they were _this_ close.

The final quarter, and it was easily the toughest game anyone had ever played. Neither team wanted to go home in second place.

Like he said he would, Randy once more headed over to the opposite side of the field. He found his spot on the fence once more and leaned forward, watching the final few minutes of the game very intently.

Seconds ticked by, the clock constantly stopping and starting, and though it took a while, the time counted down. A lot of things could change within five minutes, especially five minutes in football time.

But as hard as Westminster played, they could not catch the lead Springfield built up. With a final score of 37-20 for Springfield, the crowd went crazy due to the fact that their school was on the losing end.

John and the rest of the guys couldn’t help but cheer and huddle together in a group showing of support. Awards were given out, and the entire thing was a blur to John.

Slowly the students began to clear out, still pissed off about the events that had just taken place, with the exception of Randy. The teams headed to their respective locker rooms, with the exception of John.

“Yo, we’re gonna go get showered and fucking celebrate, Johnny! You comin’ or or what?”

John was so overwhelmed with emotion, he wasn’t listening to anything else. Peter tapped him on the shoulder, finally getting his attention. “Hey, John, you with us, man?”

“Naw, dude, not really. Fucking hell… This… I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

A grin broke out on Peter’s face as he replied, “Well you better fuckin’ believe it, cuz we did it!”

“Fuckin’ _unreal_.” John looked at his long time buddy then made a sidelong glance towards the bleachers, where he saw Randy. “Hey, you go ahead, I’ll catch up with you, ok? I gotta call the folks and Danielle first. Shit, they’re gonna freak.”

“Alright, see ya. Same bar as last night?”

“Sounds good, man!” John told him, although he really had no intention of ever making it to the bar, not if Randy was still offering. It’d be his last chance…

He watched as Peter stalked off and he grabbed his own things before heading out through the gate to meet up with Randy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Randy replied.

“Hold on just a bit, ok? I really do have to call my Mom and my… Danielle.”

“Alright.”

John pulled out a pre-paid cell phone and dialed in his parents’ number. His dad answered the phone, and called his mum over as soon as John said it was him. “We did it! We fucking WON!” he shouted into the phone.

His parents were overjoyed. They knew how much this meant to their son, especially since it would be the final game of his college career, possibly ever. They talked for a few more minutes before John said he had to head out to meet up with the rest of the guys. “Alright, John. We can’t wait to see you again. Have a safe trip back,” his mother told him.

“Of course. Love you,” he ended with, waiting for his parents’ replies before hanging up. He turned to Randy and said, “Ok, now for Dani.”

He dialed her room number, and a very pissed off Danielle answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s John!”

“Do you know what time it is?!” she yelled.

“Sorry, did I miss something? Isn’t it only, like, midnight over there?”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I have an 8am class, don’t you? Jesus Christ, John.”

“Hey, I’m sorry, but—”

“But what? Do you think I really care about your goddamn football game? I’m _sick_ of it! That’s all it is with you, John! It’s all about your fucking football! I’m done. I’m not coming in second place to a piece of pig skin filled with air.”

“You’re not second place!”

Randy cocked his head to the side as John conversation continued. This wasn’t looking too good. Well, depending on whose perspective you were looking at.

“The hell I’m not… What do we even have in common? Honestly, tell me one thing. And don’t say that we have great sex, because even that’s beginning to suck. So we’re done. You don’t talk to me for two entire days, then you call me while I’m sleeping just so you can gloat about how we finally won the big one. Well, newsflash, John, I don’t care. And I never have.”

“So, you’re breaking up with me?”

Randy’s eyes widened. Was he hearing things right? Danielle was breaking up with John…

“Yeah.”

Which meant John was free…

“But…”

He could finally get what he wanted…

“Bye, John.”

“Bye…” John muttered as he hit the end button. He once again turned to Randy, who still hadn’t lost his shocked expression.

“John, I’m so sor—”

Before Randy could get another word out, John’s mouth was on his. John’s eyes were closed, refusing to show that he was feeling anything about Danielle, even though he was. Randy’s eyes, however, were wide open. He pushed John off of him. “You’re not thinking clearly,” Randy said.

“Yeah, I am,” John replied.

“No, you’re not. Your girlfriend just broke up with you.”

“Which means that I don’t have to worry about her anymore,” John countered.

“What it means is that you’re acting on impulse.”

“I do that a lot. You know she was the only reason that I didn’t… before.”

“Were you going to, anyway? If she hadn’t broken it off with you just now, would you still have kissed me?”

John looked Randy directly in the eye, holding it as he answered, “Yes.”

Randy felt the honesty in that word. That one little word held so much for him. John had been two strikes down, and it was time to put up or shut up. And he just knocked it out of the fucking park. Pretty impressive for a football player.

“You know we might not ever see each other again,” Randy told him, but moving in closer all the same.

“I’m not letting this chance go.”

“Good. I’m sure I’m better than some chick, anyway.”

“We can find out… Your roommate still at home?”

“He comes back tomorrow morning before his 10 o’clock class.”

“Do you have a class tomorrow?” John asked

“I’ve got three. My first one’s at 9:00,” Randy answered. “But I can skip it.”

“Good.” John and Randy’s faces were so close; their lips were practically touching. Closing that final gap, John once again brought their lips together in a hesitant kiss. And even though he was slightly nervous about it, he had never wanted anything as much as this.

One night. It was all they had. One night to say that this was really more than a one night stand.

Randy broke the kiss off again, this time to say, “We should get to my room.”

“Yeah,” John agreed.

And afterwards, as John held Randy in his arms under a thin blanket, he kissed Randy’s neck and asked, “Your roomie used to this kinda sight?”

Randy laughed and pushed himself back further into John’s hold (because the bed was small, really, not because he _wanted_ to cuddle, or anything like that), he answered, “It’s been known to happen. Mainly because we were both too drunk to move after.”

“What is this, Randy? And don’t say it’s sex, because if this is just sex, then I’ve been doing it _really_ wrong.”

Randy maneuvered himself so he was now facing John. He hooked his leg over John’s and tangled their sweaty limbs together further, trying to get as much skin to skin contact as possible. “I don’t know. But I’ll tell you this: this won’t be the last we see of each other.”


End file.
